


Tie Me to the Ground

by dracofire87



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Explicit Language, Implied Relationships, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Not Quite Bondage, Roman Reigns is a Moment-Killer, Ties & Cravats, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofire87/pseuds/dracofire87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Ambrose has to get ready for the Slammy awards, but suits and ties aren't really his thing. Good thing Seth Rollins is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie Me to the Ground

_I've fought monsters and demons_ , Dean thought. _So how the_ fuck _am I getting my ass kicked by a piece of cloth?_

He bit his lip in concentration as he leaned in towards the mirror--his hair slicked back, collar up--fingers fumbling around the slick silk tie as he made another stab at getting it properly knotted around his neck.

_Was it over, under, around, and through? Or was that shoelaces? Why the fuck did I ever let them talk me into this bullshit?_

Dean held gamely onto the slippery black fabric, threading the broad end of the tie through the messy loop of the knot, gingerly tugging it up against his Adam's apple. He tried to ignore the way the pressure on his throat made his breathing hitch. He hated the way it made him feel choked, collared, trapped...

He swallowed hard, mouth too dry to make it anything other than a futile gesture, and leaned back to examine his handiwork.

The knot was passable, which was better than he'd managed so far. Unfortunately, the front of the tie had been pulled too short, exposing a good four inches of the tie's "tail."

"Goddamn it!" Dean yanked on the fucking _thing_ , half choking himself in his furious attempts to get it off, get it _away_ from him. He finally pulled the knot away from his throat, hauled the whole thing off over his head, and hurled it at the mirror. The strip of fabric didn't even cooperate with his rage, slapping limply against the glass and fluttering down to the floor in a heap.

He caught his own gaze in the mirror, and his rage died in a wave of shame. A madman stared back at him, face flushed, eyes wild. His chest heaved, hauling in hissing breaths between clenched teeth. His clothing was disheveled, collar askew, hair poking up raggedly out of the slicked back mass where the tie had caught it.

_Why the fuck are you doing this, you're just the crazy one, the Lunatic Fringe, the fucked-up piece of shit from the slums--_

"So, I see it's going well."

Dean spun, and found Seth behind him, leaning with his usual casual cockiness in the pass-through between their hotel rooms. He was already dressed in the black suit and tie combo that all three members of the Shield would be wearing that night, hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail. Seth looked sharp; confident; dangerous, and Dean suppressed a stab of envy.

"I think it's about ready for the pin, if you can land a Dirty Deeds on it," he said, smiling slightly. His tone was dry, but free of the mockery he relished lashing their enemies with. "Might kick out on you, though. Those things are tough."

"I don't--" Dean swallowed, tried again, his voice steadier this time. "I don't like ties. Or suits."

"They are an acquired taste," Seth said, bending down to pick up the fallen tie. He unknotted it deftly, smoothing the silk down beneath his long fingers. "You know, it helps, sometimes, to think of it as another kind of costume. Or...armor."

Dean grimaced. "Fight in this shit? Yeah, right."

Seth flashed him a wry smile. "Not that kind, dipshit. More like...social armor. Hides all of the crap, looks like a million bucks."

"Not me. I just look like a fucking _idiot_ ," Dean retorted. He looked down, finding himself unable to meet the flicker of sympathy in his battle-brother's eyes. "I'm just a psycho who's good at kicking the shit out of people."

A long pause drew out between them, a silence that made Dean bunch his shoulders against the pressure of it. Finally, Seth broke the quiet with an exasperated huff.

"Here. Let me."

Dean blinked stupidly as Seth stepped into his personal space, hands reaching up to gently straighten Dean's collar, then slipping down to tug the wrinkles out of his shirt. He tensed as Seth hooked the tie around the back of his neck, relaxing by inches as the other man placed the fabric just so, frowning in concentration.

He watched with growing fascination as Seth looped and knotted the tie deftly, pulling the fabric into a more intricate tangle than he'd dared attempt, adjusting the knot with little twitches of his fingers. Dean could feel the warmth of Seth's breathing, deep and steady, he was so close.

"How'd you learn to do that?" Dean asked, keeping his voice level with a concerted effort.

Seth's fingers stilled briefly. He glanced up from his work, eyes dark and amused as they flicked across Dean's face.

"Used to have to wear one to church every Sunday," he said. Dean snorted at the idea of Seth Rollins in a church, and the corner of Seth's mouth quirked up in reply. "My dad insisted. Button-down shirt and tie, every week. It's muscle memory now."

"Not much call for it where I'm from," Dean said, softly.

He felt Rollins go still, saw Seth's eyes come up again, loaded with an emotion Dean couldn't place. They both knew that Dean never talked about his life before he’d found the ring, and his brothers, god love them, didn't ask.

"Which? Ties, or church?" Seth's voice was gentle, almost more so than Dean could bear.

"Both," he said. Seth nodded, in silent understanding.

Dean opened his mouth, unsure of what to say next--and his breath caught in his chest as Seth tightened the tie's knot gently, drawing it up towards Dean's throat. Warmth pooled in his belly, even as he steeled himself against the feeling of choking, of restraint.

Instead, the tie settled around his neck with the softness of a kiss, and all his noisy thoughts just...stopped. Seth’s hands settled the tie into place in just the perfect spot, the pressure of the fabric against his collar somehow safe, warm, secure. Seth’s fingers, so unexpectedly gentle, lingered on the knot against his throat, smoothed the silk across his chest and belly.

Dean felt his pulse speed up, heartbeat shifting to double-time in his chest. The heat in his belly stretched its fingers up and out, and he gulped a breath in against the tension that wrapped tight bands around his ribs. A part of his brain registered the almost subliminal scent of Seth's cologne, felt the heat of his body, so close now, drawing him in like gravity.

His eyes flicked up, away from Seth’s hands, meeting his eyes, so dark and deep they were almost black. Something like surprise mixed with reverence ghosted across his face--like a man who’d had a priceless gift dropped into his hands without warning. The moment stretched out around them, fragile and taut, and Dean knew that with just a tug on the fabric around his throat, the distance between them would slip away, knew that he’d let Seth lead him _anywhere_ …

“Yo, Seth! You have any hair ties left? My last one just broke…”

The moment shattered around them, Roman’s voice breaking it into a thousand pieces. Seth yanked back, inhaling sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. The warmth in Dean’s belly turned to ashes as Seth withdrew, his expression shuttering into the Architect’s cool poise.

“Bro, where are you?” Roman’s head appeared in the pass-through, his brow furrowing as his eyes found Seth and Dean. “Oh, hey. What are you two up to?

“Someone had to help me with this thing,” Dean said, tapping on the knot against his throat, cutting off Seth’s explanation before he could do more than open his mouth. He ignored the grateful look Rollins was giving him, flashing Roman a trademark Dean Ambrose lazy grin. “Before I took it out behind the hotel and shot it.”

“Right on. He’s useful like that.” Roman grinned at him, then turned his attention to Seth. “Bro. Hair ties.” He gestured at the mess of hair currently framing his face. “Good for the ring. Not so good for the award ceremony of the year.”

Seth just blinked at him for a moment, then shook his head again, focus finally returning to his expression. “Oh, right. Check my laptop bag, front flap pocket. Should be a full bag.”

Brief confusion flickered across Roman’s face, followed by a look at Seth that clearly said _you two had better not be fighting_. Seth’s guileless _who, me?_ shrug and smirk was answered by a silent eye roll.

“Gotcha. Thanks.” Roman’s head disappeared back into the other room.

Seth huffed a sigh of relief. Dean hunched his shoulders, awkwardness filling the room like a third presence.

“Thanks for the help with the tie,” he said, turning his back on Seth to go grab his suit jacket from where it lay on his bed. “Needed that.”

“Yeah. Just...yeah. No problem.” It was gratifying, almost, to hear Seth sounding as out-of-sorts as he felt. “Hey, uh, one more thing.”

Dean looked up just in time to catch Seth reaching over and smoothing his ruffled hair back, tucking a couple of flyaway strands back into place. He felt his face heat, freezing in place as the other man’s fingers slid gently through his hair.

Seth stepped back, his face as flushed as Dean’s felt. He ducked his head in an uncomfortable nod, his eyes flicking across Dean’s body in a measuring sweep.

“There, that’s better,” he said. He didn’t quite meet Dean’s eyes. “You...you look good, bro. Trust me on that.” Another awkward jerk of his head, and he was gone, back through the pass-through to his own room, his voice moving steadily away. “Jesus, Roman, could you put things back into my bag when you’re done…?”

Dean finished dressing in silence, sliding ungracefully into his suit jacket--one hand coming up to touch softly against the knot of his tie, reassuring himself of its presence against his throat. He turned back to the mirror, bracing himself for the worst--

\--and found a version of himself that he’d never seen before staring back. He looked...sharp. The combination of his slicked-back hair and the severe black-on-black of the suit and tie made him look restrained, subtle, almost menacing. But respectably so, he decided.

_Maybe this isn't so bad, after all._

Dean found a smile tugging at his lips as he stepped away from the mirror, heading to join his his friends, his brothers, in the other room--fingers gently closing around the knot that pressed ever so gently against his throat.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Dean Ambrose in a suit is a beautiful, beautiful thing. And because there's something inherently sexy/bondage-y about ties, and someone tying a tie for someone else. As always, feedback is welcome!


End file.
